Chapter 42
Jameson
I keep Sam’s hand firmly gripped in mine as we walk up the driveway, needing to remind myself that she’s okay. That we’re okay.
“Let me just drop this off before we head in,” I tell her, holding up the duffle bag that’s clutched in my other hand.
I push through the side door that leads into the garage and move for the safe. After typing in the code, I spin the handle, and my heart fucking drops at what stares back at me. Or more like what doesn’t.
“No.” I shake my head. “No, no, no.”
“What?” Sam asks.
“It’s gone.” I step back. “It’s fucking gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“I’m so—” I pull away from her and slam the door to the safe shut. “Fuck!”
“Jamie, what’s going on?”
“I should have known.” The door to the safe swings back open, and I kick it closed. My foot coming down on it over and over again. “Goddammit, I should have fucking known.” I pull at my hair. “She took it. She took the money.”
Understanding flashes across Sam’s face. “Shit,” she mutters.
“I was out when the landlord came to collect rent. She told me she’d take care of it, so I gave her the code … I thought she was doing better …”
I pace in front of the safe, the door drifting back open as if to mock me. “How could I be so fucking stupid?”
“She was doing better,” Sam says, trying to reassure me. “She got that job. You couldn’t have known she was gonna …”
Her words begin to fade away as I move around her, heading for the door.
She chases after me, calling out my name.
I throw the door open, my boots echoing through the hall. “Ma!” I shout.
Her bedroom door is open, the room empty, so I keep moving, but my steps falter when I hear a deep voice coming from the kitchen.
I round the corner, my gaze falling on my mother and a man sitting across from her at the table.
“Who the fuck are you?” I yell before looking at my mother and pointing at the man. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Jameson,” she says, her voice all wrong.
I can feel Sam at my back, and it calms me but just a fraction.
I snap my fingers in front of his face. “An answer. Now.”
“Whoa, kid. Calm down.” He laughs nervously.
“Who is he?”
“This is Calvin. I met him at work.”
She looks up at me, and it’s then that it clicks. Her pupils are blown wide, her eyes glassy.
I shake my head. “At work, huh?”
She fidgets in her seat, giving herself away.
I turn to Calvin. “Get out of my house.”
“Jameson,” my mother scolds. “You can’t—”
I hold up a hand. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”
“I’m not asking you again,” I say to Calvin, my voice dangerously low. “I’m in a shit mood, and it’s only getting worse, so do yourself a favor and get out.”
He sizes me up. I must look as unhinged as I feel because he pushes his chair back. “Yeah, all right.” He turns to my mother. “Another time, Aubrey.”
She starts to stand. “I’ll walk you—”
“Sit down,” I grit out.
“You can’t talk to me like that!” she shrieks. “I’m sick of you acting like …”
I block out her rant, following Calvin to the door and out onto the porch.
The minute it shuts behind us, I have him pressed up against the side of the house. “She get that shit from you?”
“You better step back,” he grunts.
I fist his ratty T-shirt. “That’s not an answer.”
“Yeah,” he chokes out.
“She pay?” I ask, easing up a bit.
He nods.
“You don’t sell to her again, understand?”
“Look, kid, I’m sorry you mom’s a junkie and all—”
I slam him back against the wall. “She’s not a fucking junkie.”
“Sure she isn’t.”
“Who do you work for?” I spit.
“What?”
“You in a crew?”
He stares back at me, a look of genuine confusion on his face. “What are you …? No.” He shakes his head. “No, I just sell a bit on the side. Met your mother, we hit it off—”
“You’re done with her,” I cut in. “Got it?”
“Kid—”
“Stop calling me that,” I growl. “You have no fucking clue who I am. What I’m capable of doing if I find out you’re selling to her again.”
“That’s not what it was like. I …” He shifts. “I like her.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” I repeat. “This is the last fucking thing she needs right now—believe me. She does not need another man like you in her life.”
“Like me?” He lifts his chin. “Why don’t you look in the mirror? Glass houses and all that shit.”
“Get off my porch.” I snarl, stepping back and shoving him toward the steps. “Don’t let me catch you around her again.”
He mutters something under his breath, and I’m fired up enough to go after him, but the screen door pushes open and Sam sticks her head out. “Everything good?”
I watch the guy reach his car parked across the street before turning back to her. “Fine.”
“She’s uh …” Sam hovers in the doorway. “She’s …”
I blow out a breath. “I’m coming.”
I move past Sam, heading back to the kitchen, trying to calm myself for what I’m about to be met with.
“What’d you do to him?” my mother demands.
I ignore her question, asking my own. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
I scoff. “Don’t play dumb.”
She stares back at me, her arms crossed over her chest, a defiant look on her face.
“The money!” I yell. “Where’s the fucking money, Ma?”
“Gone,” she says.
“No,” I tell her. “I gave you the code yesterday. There’s no way you …” I notice the robe she’s wearing, realizing I’ve never seen it before. “Where’d you get that?”
She shrugs.
“There should’ve been over a grand in that safe. You spent a fucking grand in one day?”
I can’t believe she did this, or maybe I can and that’s what’s worse.
Thank God I have another safe in my closet or we’d really be fucked.
Sam comes to my side. I barely register her touch when she sets a hand on my arm.
I break free of her hold, storming down the hall and into my mother’s room. I throw open the closet door, finding shopping bags piled on the floor. “It’s all going back.”
I gather up the bags, toss them out into the hall, then move for her nightstand. I rip open the drawer, shifting through the contents.
My mother tears through the room, moving toward me frantically. “You can’t just go through my things like this. I deserve privacy. I deserve—”
“You lost that right when you spent our money on a shopping spree and your next fucking high.”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” I yell, my hand stilling.
“I make my own money. I should be able to buy—”
I turn, cutting her off, “You work part-time, Ma. The money you bring in barely covers the electric bill and groceries.” I wave a hand around the room. “How do you think we pay for all of this?”
“Believe me,” she says, “I know exactly how we pay for it. You never let me forget.”
I shift back to the drawer and continue rummaging through it.
She closes the space between us, her words coming out too fast. “I never get anything. I have nothing for myself. No space. You can’t just come in here and …”
I shake my head when I finally find the little bag of white powder I knew would be here. Grabbing it, I push the drawer shut.
“Give me that!” she screams.
“No.”
She snatches my hand, trying to pry it open.
“Jesus, Ma. Stop!”
I pull my hand back, and she stumbles forward. I reach out to steady her, but she moves away from me.
“I hate you!” she throws at me. “I fucking hate you!”
I freeze, and Sam moves from her place in the doorway, stepping into the room.
She’s high, I tell myself. She’s only saying this ’cause she’s high. She doesn’t actually hate you. She doesn’t …
“Did you hear me?” she sneers.
“Yeah, Ma,” I mutter, my voice hollow. “I heard you. You hate me.”
“Give me back my things,” she says, pacing. “I need my things.”
“No.”
She grabs the ashtray from the nightstand and hurls it across the room. “You can’t just take my things!”
“You need to calm down,” I tell her, moving for the door.
“Where are you going?”
I motion for Sam to step out into the hall.
“Jameson! Where are you—”
She rushes for the door, but I close it behind me before she can reach it, holding it closed as she yanks at the doorknob.
“Open this fucking door,” she pleads.
Sam grabs my other hand as I listen to my mother rant and bang on the door, saying things I try to ignore.
“… I’m a prisoner in this house …”
“… I have nothing …”
“… you’re nothing …”
“… you’re useless, Jameson …”
“Block it out,” Sam whispers beside me. “She doesn’t mean it. Just block it out.”
I try.
I really fucking try.
But as much as I attempt to rationalize it, tell myself that she isn’t thinking straight right now, each insult, each accusation, hits like a blow to my gut. Another stab to my already shattered heart.
Sam brings her hand to my face, forcing me to look at her. “Focus on me,” she murmurs. “Tune it out.”
Something breaks on the other side of the door.
“… this is what you wanted …”
“… I hope you’re happy …”
“… just open the fucking door …”
Briefly, Sam’s eyes flick to the doorknob at my whitening grip on the handle. “Let me take over,” she says. “You should go somewhere else. You don’t need to hear—”
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “It’s nothing I haven’t …” I clear my throat. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”
Anger flashes across her face, but instead of arguing with me, she just nods.
I’m not sure how long passes before my mother finally quiets down, her ranting turning into a low sob.
I blink my eyes closed and suck in a breath before I turn, pushing open the door.
My mother looks over at me from her spot curled up against the wall. Her eyes are filled with tears, her knees pulled into her chest. “Jameson,” she cries, her voice cracking. “Jameson, I’m …”
Slowly, I step into the room, taking in the mess she’s made of the space.
“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out. “I’m horrible. I’m …”
“It’s okay,” I mutter, not sure if even I believe my words. “You just need to sleep it off.”
She looks up at me, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” I cut her off. “You never do.”
She flinches, pulling her knees in even tighter.
“Do you need help getting into bed?”
Her eyes drift past me as Sam walks into the room, a dustpan in hand. Shame colors my mother’s face as she watches her begin to sweep up a shattered picture frame.
A silent tear falls down her face, and she bats it away as if she wasn’t just hysterical a few minutes ago. “No,” she says, answering my question. “No, I’m fine.”
I nod, stepping back, giving her room to stand.
My eyes meet Sam’s, and she tilts her head toward the door. I nod back before she walks out, giving us space.
My mother stands and shuffles over to the bed. She lets out a muttered curse, the springs creaking below her as she climbs in.
Moving around the room, I begin to put the space back together, if only just a little bit, as if erasing the evidence of what just happened will mean it never did.
Turning with a pile of clothes in my hands, I still when I find her passed out on top of the covers. Setting the clothes down, I move toward her slowly.
Her hair is fanned out in a tangled mess, her arms crossed awkwardly. I grab the throw blanket from the end of the bed, cover her, then click off the lamp on the nightstand.
Moving into the hall, I eye the shopping bags scattered on the floor, clothes spilling out of them. Tucking the items back inside, I gather the bags, bringing them into the kitchen.
Sam turns when she hears me come in, shutting off the sink and placing a clean bowl on the counter to dry. Her gaze drops to the bags before she drags it back up to meet mine. “She out?”
I nod.
She watches me wearily, trying to gauge what state I’m in.
“I talked to Cathleen,” she says as I drop into a chair at the kitchen table. “She’s not working tonight, so if you want me to stay—”
“Yes,” I say, looking up at her. “Please.”
She comes up behind me, draping her arms over my shoulders and down to my chest. “What do you need right now?”
“You,” I answer immediately. “Just you.”
Pulling back, she walks around the chair and drops into my lap. “I’m here. Whatever you need.” Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “Always.”